


Memento Vivere

by dragonsong (NekoAisu)



Series: Commissioned Works [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, Fluff, Gift Fic, Gift Work, Mild Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, more like fade to black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:21:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22918390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NekoAisu/pseuds/dragonsong
Summary: Sitting astride their Chocobo with ease and grace is the Warrior of Light, hope incarnate, a trustworthy and─wow.He should probably… calm down a little. It’s nearly like a straight shot of serotonin to see her when it’s been planned as part of quests and miscellany, much less when she is simply here. In Coerthas. On the chocobo he gifted her. Staring at him because he’s looking at her andFury have mercy I’ve been staring.
Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Commissioned Works [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2011288
Comments: 5
Kudos: 33





	Memento Vivere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CheshirePirouette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheshirePirouette/gifts).



> Completed piece for CheshirePirouette! Thank you for being patient with me ;;w;; <3  
> Arzu is NOT my OC/WoL and belongs to CheshirePirouette ^^

Of all the things Haurchefant expected to see upon cresting one of the many hills about Camp Dragonhead, it was not the visage of a dear friend. Sitting astride their Chocobo with ease and grace is the Warrior of Light, hope incarnate, a trustworthy and─ _ wow.  _ He should probably… calm down a little. It’s nearly like a straight shot of serotonin to see her when it’s been planned as part of quests and miscellany, much less when she is simply here. In Coerthas. On the chocobo he’s gifted them. Staring at him because he’s looking at her and  _ Fury have mercy I’ve been staring. _

He attempts to cover his mortification and obvious lapse in judgement with a jubilant call of, “My friend, what a wonderful coincidence!” 

She nods to acknowledge him, raising a hand in a small wave. “Ser Haurchefant,” she greets, at ease as he draws closer so they do not need yell from one side of the wood to the other. “‘Tis a wonderful coincidence, indeed.” 

He smiles in response, bright to the point it is near blinding, and shakes snow from his hair. There is ice and slush coating his sabatons and soaking into the gaps between metal and cloth. For someone who is very particular with his appearance, the mess is uncharacteristic as it is uncomfortable. There is a definite cramp building in his right foot from cold he would love to soothe, but his chocobo needs more than a simple pat and dismount when back at camp. 

Arzu gestures at his state of dishevelment in question before voicing her concern, “Are you hale?”

“For all intents, yes,” he replies. “Simply a bit damp. Care to join me for cocoa and a late lunch?” He feels his face flush ever so slightly at his audacity, mouth running before his mind can catch up, and hopes it can be attributed to the cold and not his embarrassment. 

She nods again, seemingly pleased, and starts off toward the camp at a steady pace. He draws up alongside her and breathes a sigh of relief. Yes, he’s invited many an adventurer to stay for a meal and to warm themselves by his hearth, but Arzu is… different. More complex. Something of a wonder. He fears causing her insult, making her feel like she is obligated to agree to his requests, turning her visits to Camp Dragonhead into a chore. 

They ride in comfortable silence (which, considering the state of Haurchefant’s mind, is a blessing unto itself) up to the gates, Haurchefant shouting his return to the guard so they can relay notice to the stablehands. They dismount once inside the walls and walk their birds to the stables, Haurchefant chattering about why he’s in a state of disarray. 

“There was a little bit of a hiccup with Anise’s run this morning and I, ah… may have fallen off,” he says, sheepish. “Not all of Erh’s clutch are so level-headed as their mother. She is making remarkable progress, though!” He undoes the barding and organizes the tack with ease, helping the hands with Anise before assisting Arzu. 

Once thoroughly free of any chocobo-riding-related troubles, they head to his quarters. It is looked on disfavorably to invite an unaccompanied (and unmarried) woman into his home (the scandal), but it is a common enough occurrence within Camp Dragonhead that nobody dares bat an eye. They have faith in his virtues and manner. Truly, it is Arzu that grants them pause. 

A strange adventurer whose connection to Haurchefant is brought by her need for an airship (of Garlean make), all subsequent meetings made possible by misfortune and chaos following her every step, and whose appearance is eerily similar to those of the wyrms they seek to kill. It is a common sentiment among the knights of the camp that she is not to be blindly trusted, Warrior of Light or not. Unfortunately for them, their sunshiney Ser is guileless as always in his pursuits of friendship and camaraderie.

Lunch goes without incident, ending with Arzu sorting through sheaves of parchment for her next quest. Haurchefant is radiant, joy poorly masked with attempts at familiar professionalism, even after she departs. He is just as happy after her next visit. And the next. And the  _ next.  _ If anything, he begins mooning after her. 

What a state he is in─the head of an important bastion overcome with affection for someone not of his station─to invite her in for tea, lunch, to break bread together and soothe each other’s wounds after battles gone less than right. Every meeting is a treasure, but it is not until he invites her to assist him in making cocoa that he realizes,  _ oh. I’m in love.  _

The realization somehow makes things easier. Watching Arzu furiously whisk cocoa powder into milk with a vengeance warms him better than the drink itself ever has. He wants her here for the future, for long nights and long days, to share triumphs and failures. But he cannot. Not yet, if anything. His want to reach out and take her face in his hands to kiss her sweetly, softly is halted by the sticky marshmallow on his hands. If nothing else could stop him in this moment, it would be how frustrating it would be for her to scrub sticky sugar syrup and egg whites from her scales. 

_ How paltry an excuse! Have you no confidence, _ his mind cries. 

Watching her warm her hands with the heat of the stove, he says,  _ Yes. Not before her.  _

Sitting together, mugs in hand, he smiles and talks and blatantly ignores the screeching and spitting of his own internal demons. They cry for him to make a move, but he knows that is not his place. Not his  _ right.  _ To do something so unchivalrous as to steal a kiss or allow his hands to stray… those are thoughts for those who are married and blessed by Halone as two halves of a whole. 

And then she smiles at him, cocoa making a lopsided moustache above her top lip, and he is absolutely, positively  _ lost.  _

The feeling of falling does not leave him for days verging on weeks. He introduces her to his father and Edmont gives him a terribly knowing look. Emmanelain looks nearly horrified that one of his siblings has a chance at romance and attempts to set them up further (read: poke his nose into every single thing they do together). For all his efforts, at least once pulls off. 

In the dusty and disused sitting room where Haurchefant’s mother used to spend her time, there sits a piano. Despite the lack of cleaning the room exhibits, the piano is still in fine tune. Haurchefant knows it was his father’s doing, just as it has been for the many years since his birth. He could not bear for the instrument to fall into ill repair, much less once Haurchefant’s biological mother passed away. It has been a scandal to have her living within the house, but Edmont had done it anyway and enjoyed her company every second he could have it. 

To share something so sacred as the place where she used to live, where her shawl is still draped over her old chair, is a show of trust. Edmont knows how serious this love is for his son. He knows and he  _ accepts _ , that being the most critical part of the whole affair. There are no blessings exchanged in private, but there is a well-worn key and book of sheet music brokenbacked from excessive use. 

Haurchefant can barely breathe despite the windows having been thrown open for a breeze. He struggles through his words when he asks, “Care to play with me?”

“I would be honored,” Arzu replies. He has not told her of what this room means, or why the bench is worn in two spots instead of one, but she understands nonetheless. How wonderful she is to be so unfalteringly compassionate. He never need ask, she always gives. 

He wonders, if he asked for her hand… would she allow him that liberty? Would she even  _ consider  _ it?

From the first press of her fingers against the keys, there is peace. Focusing on the sheets and new-old songs they fumble to play together, he can enjoy her presence and the notes rising to fill the room rather than be consumed by worry. They flick through a good chunk of the book in what feels like barely a minute (though, judging by the slide of the sun on the horizon, it has been many more) until the draft becomes a bit too much to bear. They pause, he shuts the windows, and Emmanellain half-stomps through the door calling with too much enthusiasm that dinner has been served and father would  _ love  _ for Lady Arzu to join them, yes he would. 

Dinner is about what Haurchefant expected. There is talk of battle and wyrms followed by compliments on dessert and how wonderful it is to have the manor filled with music again. Arzu is not one for court politicking and various schema, but she is by no means dull company. If anything, the table is livelier than it has been in years. Honoroit asks questions about adventuring and what it’s been like for her in Ishgard, Artoriel is restrained but no less enthusiastic in his follow-ups to the stories, even the servants crowd to listen in when she details the fight with Lady Iceheart. 

After so comfortable an introduction to his family, dinner together within the estate becomes commonplace. They battle together, back to back, and stumble home while high on adrenaline. They play more piano, sit together by the hearth, learn each other's tells and preferences, and slowly,  _ painstakingly, _ Haurchefant breaches the prospect of courtship. 

They are wrapped up together under no fewer than three heavy blankets in an attempt to ward off the bitter chill of Coerthan winter when he does. It is asked haltingly, carefully, and preceded by a reminder that he means no offense or disrespect, that she is more than welcome to refuse without any enmity on his part, and that she is a dear friend if nothing else. “I would─I… By the  _ Fury,  _ this is far harder than Emmanelain made it out to be,” he mutters, arms wrapped about her comfortably despite the tension in his shoulders. He takes in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. 

Arzu tilts her head back to meet his eyes. “You’ve got me worried, with warnings and mumbling like that. ‘Tis not like you, my friend.”

“‘Tis not like me to be like this, yes,” he agrees, “but I’ve a mind to be true to you. I have developed feelings for you─of the romantic sort, I need specify. T’would be less than honorable for me to continue as we are now and not inform you as such.”

She leans back into him, relaxing ever so slightly, and replies, “I know.”

“You do?”

She nods. “You are very transparent. It was beginning to pain me to call you a friend when I wish for more.” She smiles, the gesture small and intimate in its careful curve, and reaches a hand up to pull him down a few ilms. 

He leans back, avoiding the touch. “As much as it pains me to refuse such affections, to kiss is… for those who are to be married. I would not tarnish your honor in that way.”

“It is not such for me and mine, but I will respect that if it is what you wish.”

Haurchefant flushes a brilliant pink, the color sweeping out to the tips of his ears, and buries his face in her hair, whispering, “I would love nothing more, but I fear my self-control is not nearly so strong as to resist the allure of further pleasures.”

“So don’t.”

“You know not what you invite.”

Arzu smiles again and it’s calm, colored by the fire in her eyes. Her voice is sin when she says, “Show me, then.”

And he does. It’s with lips and teeth and tongue, the mapping of skin freshly bared, that he learns the whole of her. There is nothing left unexplored when he is done, nor is there anywhere more sacred than in bed with her. He prays, both of them flushed and sweaty and  _ glorious,  _ in a voice touched by awe, “May Halone allow me your love forever. I would never want for reprieve.”

Pulling her into his arms, he is at peace. The little demon in his heart is soothed and quiet. She wraps her arms about him and presses a languid and equally chaste kiss to his forehead. Arzu laughs quietly and Haurchefant’s heart soars for the millionth time that day. He thinks,  _ yes, this is the woman I’d spend my life with. _

And, given such ardent reciprocation, intends to make good on it one day at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on:  
> tumblr ─ https://ffxivimagines.tumblr.com/  
> twitter ─ twitter.com/FlamingAceKiri  
> discord ─ NekoAisu#7099


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